


Made for Greatness

by detour



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detour/pseuds/detour
Summary: Trying out for America’s Got Talent wasn’t Steve’s idea, but he’s making the best of it.“Thor, ok, and who is this, Zeus?” Simon says, gesturing lazily at Steve.“Uh, no, I’m Steve,” Steve says.“Thor and Steve, ok,” Howie says, laughing from behind the judges’ desk. “Let’s see what you can do.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Captain America Big Bang 2018. Art by [tvheit](http://tvheit.tumblr.com/post/178871315203/so-excited-to-finally-share-my-art-for-the). Edited by B. It’s main event time. 
> 
> What an amazing time working with [tvheit](http://tvheit.tumblr.com/). I was lucky enough that this story inspired tvheit to create TWO gorgeous pieces to help make the action of this story come alive, taking a semi-ridiculous idea about Steve on a reality tv show and turning it into something glamorous. I would write this story again based on their art. 
> 
> Production title: Captain America’s Got Talent.

Steve is fully aware how it looks, when they come up in front of the judges. Thanks to the mix-up at the laundromat, the mismatched sweats and tees that advertise Steve’s gym make them look less than impressive. 

He didn’t think he’d ever be wishing for the blue tights and silk they normally wear, but at least they’d look like they were supposed to be here. His partner has his hair neatly braided, expression calm, but even that doesn’t inspire confidence.  

His own smile freezes in place when he sees the host make her way in their direction, camera crew trailing behind. Steve has no idea why he’d ever say yes to reality tv. He clears his throat and tries to look normal. 

Thor shifts closer, knocking his bare elbow into Steve’s. It’s slight, but enough that Steve remembers to breathe.

“How you guys doing?” The host asks, holding a microphone in front of Steve’s face. Steve can’t remember her name, Tara something? 

Steve winces but speaks. “Um, fine? We’re just, uh, you know. Fine. Ready.” 

Her smile fades, and she looks at Thor before she brightens up again. “Is he the strong, silent type?” 

“Unfortunately we both are, so this is awkward,” Thor says. 

Steve’s gratified when she laughs heartily. Tyra, that was her name. 

“Well, I hope you’re ready!” Tyra says, like Steve hadn’t just said they were. She touches his arm, looking over his shoulder at someone else. 

“Uh,” Steve says, but Tyra’s already moving on to the next group for a soundbite. He rubs his hands over his face, feeling the heat from his cheeks bleed into his palms. 

“That was painful to watch, brother,” Thor says, then unfolds his arms to clap Steve on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, so is that,” Steve mutters, and rubs absently at his deltoid. It’s not that he doesn’t notice the camera trailing after them to capture their prep, he just cares slightly less when all they get to film is Thor adjusting himself in the sweats. 

Thor takes the lead when they’re called to the stage so all Steve has to do is focus on the back of his shirt. Under his bare feet, the stage itself is warmer than Steve expected, or else he’s gone clammy with nerves. 

The mic he’s been handed feels oddly heavy, and the fact Thor has one too is not reassuring. Steve falls into place beside Thor, just at the bottom of the x. 

“So who are you, what do you do?” Howie asks. Steve tries not to read anything into the fact that he’s leaning forward, good or bad. 

“I am Thor, and I carry him,” Thor says, straight-faced, and seems not to notice the laughter that erupts. 

“Thor, ok, and who is this, Zeus?” Simon says, gesturing lazily at Steve. 

“Uh, no, I’m Steve,” Steve says. He waves, then feels stupid. 

“Thor and Steve, ok,” Howie says, laughing from behind the judges’ desk. “Let’s see what you can do.” 

What they do is about two minutes of hand balancing that includes Thor holding Steve’s hands so he can do a handstand mid-air, Steve standing on Thor’s head and messing up his braid, and Thor using Steve’s back as a springboard, but not necessarily in that order. 

They get yeses and a recommendation to change the name of the group from ‘ _ The Handstand Brothers. _ ’ Steve would miss how people underestimate them from the awful name if he didn’t also hate it. 

Thor’s already planning the routine for the next audition as they find their way backstage, talking about the costumes they didn’t use and music they could. Steve nods when he’s supposed to, even if he doesn’t follow the plot and isn’t looking forward to going up on camera again in a few weeks. 

They have to wait until all the acts have been called up to take a group shot at the end, so Steve does a cool down before he sits to play around on his phone. 

Thor disappears in search of water, and Steve zones out long enough to be startled when he notices the shared dressing room’s filled up with strangers. 

“So you’re brothers?” one of the guys from the variety group asks when Steve looks up, scratching his neck with one hand. Clint, he said his name was, which is suitably midwestern enough to have passed through Chicago’s auditions. Technically Steve and Thor fall under the acrobats, which means they’re up against Russians and some weird guy with a series of tiny hot air balloons. 

“No, it’s cultural,” Steve says, instead of the long answer. The long answer is only available after Thor’s been drinking, and sounds a bit like Thor used to do the same act with his brother before he ran away from the circus and joined law school. Steve had been working out at the gym when Thor had asked him to come and lend a hand, in those exact words. He can’t say he’s never looked back, but it’s been a better option than breaking yet another punching bag. 

“Cultural, I can accept that,” Clint says, and takes another sip of his water. “Did you see my act?” 

“I don’t think so,” Steve says, mostly to be polite. He doesn’t want to say that he doesn’t dare watch in case he actually finds out the amazing stuff everyone else can do and cripples himself with self-doubt. 

“I shoot arrows at stuff.” Clint clearly doesn’t pick up on Steve’s hint. “And Thor carries you around. You really should have thought about stage names.” 

“That’s also a cultural thing,” Steve says.  

“Yeah, ok, I guess,” Clint shrugs as he takes another drink. “Thor is honour-bound to uphold his namesake? God of handstands?” 

“I meant me, I’m named after my dead granddad,” Steve says, and keeps the smile from his face when Clint sputters and spits water over the floor in front of him. 

“Damnit, did I dribble,” Clint asks, and twists in his chair in a way that shouldn’t be possible, one that has Steve mimicking it without thinking about it. It’s uncomfortable but feasible. 

“Floor is wet,” one of the white Russians says, the redheaded acrobat that Steve may have caught a glimpse of as she was warming up in the gym earlier. Natasha. She’s good, holding herself up on one hand for the full three minutes Steve found himself watching. She didn’t even shake. 

“I’ll clean it up toot sweet, ma’am,” Clint drawls, amping up the midwest drawl while she rolls her eyes and passes. He waits until she’s disappeared before turning back to Steve. “Was that dumb? It felt dumb when I was saying it.” 

“It was,” Steve agrees, and is thankful when he spots Thor approaching. 

He’s always been uncomfortable in competitive situations, and now he’s going to feel bad if Clint doesn’t make it through. They’re in different categories so they won’t be going directly up against each other, but only so many contestants make it to the next stage. A yes in female singers means a no for variety and so on, although Steve doesn’t think the weird guy in his forties that makes the Goldberg machines is really going much further than Vegas. 

“Thor, this is Clint,” Steve says. 

“Ah, you have the bow and arrows,” Thor says, mimicking the motion before holding out a hand. “You are very good.” 

“Thank you,” Clint says, looking at Steve as if to ask if Thor was for real. Steve could assure him yes, Thor was as genuine as they came. 

* * *

They get the early slot for practice in the gym to prepare for Judgement Week alongside Natasha, some other acrobats, and a dance group. Steve tries not to pay too much attention to what the others are doing, but when he and Thor are just stretching his brain is free to wander. 

Natasha is working on the trampoline, twisting her body rapidly through the air before she lands lightly on her feet. Beyond her, there’s a guy working his way up the rock wall one-handed. 

Steve frowns, not sure if he saw his act on the replay, then loses sight of him when Thor moves in front of him. 

“I thought we could start with the rockups,” Thor says, running his hands over Steve’s arms to make sure he’s ready before they start any lifting. Satisfied, he steps away and towards the mat. 

Dropping his head into a nod, Steve follows. They’ve been putting their act together for the past few days after feedback from the previews. Steve isn’t sold on a few of the transitions, but today is the first time they’ll be running through from start to finish to test it as a unit. 

They shift into position, running through rockups until Thor’s satisfied they’re warmed up and can move into the routine properly. 

Steve isn’t exactly sure what their act looks like. He makes a habit of avoiding it, letting Thor run over their tapes to suggest improvements. 

Thor has a grasp on theatricality that Steve could only hope for, so he doesn’t even try. He at least knows that people don’t see the small difference in their muscle mass, and anything where Thor carries Steve’s weight is impressive. 

For now, Thor’s holding his arms behind his head so Steve can use those as his plant and pull himself up. In performance it’ll be smooth, but Steve hesitates when he’s head and shoulders above Thor, unwilling to loosen his grip to twist into the handstand he needs to be in to transition. 

He slips back down to the mat and tries again, this time able to swing the weight of his body up and upside-down.There’s an uncomfortable amount of pressure where the bones of their wrists meet in the clasp before he tucks his body around to drop in Thor’s waiting arms.

—which aren’t completely ready since Steve rushed the transition. His legs slip through Thor’s arms and his feet hit the mat hard, impact echoing through his knees. 

“We need something between me going up and the handstand to change position,” Steve says, reaching down to check the heat of the muscles in his feet for any strain. There’s nothing, but he’ll rub them down later as a precaution. 

“Stand on my shoulders,” Thor says. “We’ll release, misdirect, and continue.” 

Steve nods and they try again. 

It’s better with the extra move. Steve holds the handstand, wondering if it needs anything else when across the gym, the rock climber falls. 

It takes Steve a long minute to figure out what happened, even with the thud on the mat on the other side of the gym. He blames the blood rushing to his head and the fact Thor is going over costume ideas that don’t involve much for costume. 

He twists his body into the twist a few seconds early and Thor catches him, dropping to his knee to roll Steve out and onto the mat. 

By the time they turn, someone already has the rock climber on his feet, and they’re making sure all his limbs are in working order. But — and Steve blames holding the handstand for how long it takes him to realize — he only has one arm to check. 

Flushing, he looks away, and finds Natasha watching him. 

“Cute, yes?” Natasha says, Russian accent thick, picking her way towards them through the loose blocks from the tumbling pit. 

“He has a nice body,” Thor says to her, and looks over to Steve’s red face. “Steve agrees.” 

“Your act is good, but acrobatics will only do so much.” Natasha circles them, expression curious. It doesn’t help Steve’s blush. “If we both go further, we should have talk.” 

Thor looks at her, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before holding out his hand to shake. 

Natasha takes it, using it to twist herself up into a one-armed handstand before dropping back down. She pats Thor’s chest and then Steve’s abs. She’s tiny compared to them. 

“If you make it to finals, you’ll do,” Natasha says, and slips between them on her way out. 

“I—” Steve says before closing his mouth. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning. 

“Yes, that,” Thor says grimly, and they spend the rest of the morning trying to get Steve to duplicate Natasha’s move. 

* * *

They spend a lot of hours in practice over the next few days, to the point where Steve brushes his teeth in time with the song Thor’s chosen, showers with one line from the chorus sung on repeat. 

Thor looks concerned about the routine, watching Steve’s body critically when he warms up and cools down. Steve tries not to dwell on that too much and works harder to anticipate what Thor’s going to ask him next. 

There was one move Thor reluctantly gave up the day before, one where he balanced on one hand and Steve was supposed to grip his neck and do the same, but in reverse. 

It’s a move that was part of Thor’s act, before, but Steve can’t get his own body to cooperate. He twists the wrong way each time, frustrating them both. Steve was understandably anxious about going into practice today, but things have been going well so far. Blinking that thought away, he focuses so he doesn’t jinx them. 

Steve places one foot on Thor’s knee, holding still long enough to be sure he has his balance before pushing against their gripped forearms to flip upside down. His head rests against Thor’s for his anchor, holding the weight of his body so his feet can reach for the sky. 

They have to hold the position for thirty seconds. It’s still an effort not to think too much about how his bare feet look in poses like this and whether his toes are too long. It’s a long, silent hold before before Thor shifts forward so Steve can descend, feet landing softly on the spring floor. 

“Should we try that one again?” Steve asks, stretching out his arms. They don’t ache, but he feels aware of them in a way that only comes after hours of practice. 

“I think you have it,” Thor says. He steps forward to the handstand canes they haven’t used much this session to throw himself forward into a handstand, surprisingly quick for his bulk. Steve steps back as Thor lifts one hand, showcasing the ripple of muscle in his back as he scissors his legs in the air. 

“Do you want me to do something like that,” Steve asks, hesitant to try and mimic the move while Thor has his legs out and could easily kick Steve right in the face. It’s impressive that he has as much range as he does with the muscles in his thighs. The move looks enough like the splits to pass, even if Steve knows neither of them could manage it against a more resistive surface like the floor. 

“No,” Thor says. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and leaves Thor to working through his issues in body movement. 

He’s pretty sure it has something to with the fact Thor’s working with Steve and not his brother. There isn’t as much contrast between them in build or colouring, and there are some moves Steve isn’t built to do physically. Steve can tell it’s frustrating and tries to make up for it with his willingness to try anything. 

Thor is the anchor, using his body to brace against whatever weird shit he wants Steve to pull off some six and a half feet above the stage floor. If he thinks about it, it’s the in-air part that gets him. There’s nothing physical to brace against, not like when Steve used to parkour when he couldn’t afford the gym memberships. He can’t trust the biofeedback he gets from Thor’s hands, not when part of him thinks Thor’s going to break him or he’s going to break Thor in every move. 

Steve may have to address that particular line of thought later. For now he takes a break against the wall of the gym, disposable water bottle crackling as he tries to down the contents in a single motion. 

He hasn’t seen anyone else from the show in the gym for at least an hour, but there’s no visible clock from where he’s sitting to see how late it actually is. The gym isn’t deserted, plenty of local gymnasts working through routines in different areas. Steve watches a girl in a blue leotard working on the vault board just in front of him, wondering if Thor would let him try something like that out if they make it to next week. He’s just not sure what he’d do with the move after that. 

“You waiting for the tramp?” Someone asks him from above. Steve looks up, but it’s no one he recognizes. He thinks he’d remember eyes like that, and the man-bun is a bit unusual for a gymnast. 

“No,” Steve says. “Just watching. Unless that’s weird? But I’m not waiting.” 

“Great,” the guy says. He sounds a bit put out by it, unless it is weird that Steve’s watching the girl use it. Steve squints at him again, and realizes a bit belatedly the guy is attractive for all that his gymwear is hobo chic, ratty long-sleeve hoodie and basketball shorts. 

“Can you pass me another water?” Steve asks him when he doesn’t leave. 

An open package is sitting on the table to his left, but the guy takes it with his right hand which just looks awkward until Steve realizes that he’s the one-armed rock climber from a few days ago. 

“Thanks, I just get so thirsty,” Steve says, and flushes bright red when the guy raises both eyebrows at what must sound like porn dialogue. “Pretend I said that in a normal way?” 

“I don’t know you, what’s your baseline?” The guy shifts and slides to sit down beside Steve. 

“My baseline?” Steve spares a glance away from the girl, but now that he’s noticed the rock climbing gymnast is hot, he can’t stop noticing. A few seconds is all he can manage before he feels his face erupt into flames. 

“For normal. Is there any way I can pretend that was less of a pickup? Lay a line on me.” The guy sweeps his hand out and waits. 

Steve swallows, and doesn’t think about what he’s going to say next which is a clear mistake. “I was watching you earlier. On the rock wall?” 

“Okay, so your baseline is just super creepy, isn’t it.” The guy starts laughing and won’t stop even when Steve covers his face with his hands. 

“I’m dehydrated,” Steve says through his hands. 

“What?” The guy is still laughing. 

Moving his hands, Steve glares at him. “Dehydrated.” 

“Mmm,” the guy says thoughtfully. “Dehydration’s the defense you’re going with?” 

“What, you have something better?”

“Obviously.” The guy clears his throat and sits up straight, pushing at Steve’s shoulder until he looks at him. “I’m just overcome by your hotness, I can’t help myself.”

“Haha.” Steve rolls his eyes. “I know, it’s your shorts. They’re just so loose and sexy.”

“Why do you think I’m wearing these baggy things, they help me think clearly so I won’t make your mistakes.” The guy grins and holds out his hand. “I’m Bucky. Training for a reality tv show.”

“Steve,” Steve says and shakes. “And oddly enough, I’m doing the same thing.” 

_ “America’s Got Talent?”  _ Bucky asks, nodding his head to where Thor is still working through some positions. 

“How’d you guess,” Steve says dryly. 

“The summer tv schedule is oddly predictable. Also, your act is pretty unique.” 

“Now who’s been watching who,” Steve says. He ducks his head to steal a look at Bucky, who doesn’t look bothered at all. 

“Only so many leotards a guy can take in.” Bucky shrugs it off with an ease Steve envies. He’s also staying away from sounding like a creep. “I was actually going to ask you questions about your grip strength, like when you do that thing when you’re holding his hands and manage to flip yourself upside down.”

“It’s not really grip as it is displacement.” Steve holds his hands out and presses the palm heels together. “See, you can only shift so much weight back here, where the bones meet. I can’t go up if we have that hold, so we use a forearm or bicep grip. Too much pressure and the body twists and I fall.”

“You don’t fall a lot,” Bucky says, reaching his hand out to grab Steve’s. 

Steve lets him take it, watching as Bucky matches the heel of his palm against Steve’s, hand cool but not clammy. 

“It’s—Thor’s better at this,” Steve starts, but soldiers on despite the way he wants to linger and enjoy Bucky’s handclasp. He does turn his hand to show Bucky the way it feels when weight rests against different parts of the hand. “It’s using your body to carry the momentum through, like when you’re rock climbing? Whatever the root is, you start from that foot and push upwards. It just gets harder when you don’t have a stable root.”

“The big guy looks pretty solid to me,” Bucky says. Thor’s come down from the canes but looks content to lay on the floor and stretch. Steve isn’t sure but it looks like someone’s joined him. He’s not inclined to interrupt. 

“Thor’s steady, but not floor steady.” Steve shrugs. Bucky’s still holding onto his hand. “You really learn to trust your own body and figure out when it’s going to do what you want, and how to correct if it’s not.” 

“As much as I’d love to hear more about your body, I should work on the floor tramp before the day’s out.” Bucky releases Steve’s hand and pats him on the knee. “I may come back to you for advice.”

“I’m here until Thursday,” Steve says. “We film then, and this either means I’m going home or going to Vegas.”

“I’ll remember that,” Bucky says, and grins at Steve before he heads for the trampoline.

Steve lingers for a minute to watch. Bucky throws himself towards the trampoline without fear, much in the same way Thor starts his hand balancing. 

He’s smiling when he walks back to where Thor is lying in child pose. 

“We should run through the pull up again,” Thor says without opening his eyes. “You should be confident in your ability to do it.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He thinks his body is ready. 

* * *

They spend as much time in practice as possible without compromising their ability. 

Although they’re one of the first ones to arrive to the gym and usually the last to leave, Steve only sees Bucky twice. 

He’s not sure if Bucky was just being polite about it, but part of him wants to cross the gym floor so they can talk more about his body. Either of their bodies.

Steve also wants to ask for Bucky’s number, no matter how difficult it is in the grand scheme of reality tv scheduling.

It doesn’t happen. 

* * *

Natasha looks delicate and graceful on stage, the skirt on her leotard floating lazily around her legs as she twists her body around. Now that Steve knows what he’s looking for, he can see the way she’s utilizing her balance and strength to look like her moves are simple. 

The judges like it, getting a sniffle from Mel B because Natasha’s music was about death but Simon tells her he wants to see something more interesting. 

She walks off the stage with a content look on her face, like it’s exactly what she wanted them to say. She ignores them as she walks by, instead stepping close to speak to Clint the archer. 

The Goldberg machine guy has a bit of conversation on stage, telling them they have to go offsite for his act. They’ve already recorded those parts, and take a minute to play the clip for the audience inside the theatre before moving straight to judgement. 

He doesn’t pass, but Steve isn’t sure why. The setup was incredible, with fireworks and a robot that sprayed a fire extinguisher on the explosion, a scene so well-timed Steve knew it had to be part of the bit. The judges counted it as a failed attempt, though, and don’t hand out a second chance. 

It creates a weird, charged energy around and behind the stage, making Steve feel his feet go cold and clammy. 

Thor notices before Steve can tense too much, dragging him into filming a sound bite to pull him out of his head. Tyra the host spends an uncomfortable amount of minutes watching Steve adjust Thor’s bowtie. 

Thor’s great idea was Chippendales. They finally look like they’re here to compete, but the costumes don’t have much to do with their act. They’re aren’t doing anything sexy. 

What they are doing starts with the move they worked out in practice,  _ lift into shoulder stand into handstand and twisting roll _ . Steve absently notes the gasps of the crowd when he runs towards Thor’s arched back at the end and uses it as a springboard for a final somersault that brings the floor to his hands too quickly, but he makes it into their final pose. 

“Well, Thor and Steve,” Heidi says, voice rolling through their names. “You certainly have brought out new sides of yourselves.” 

Steve smiles weakly, letting Thor narrate the passage through their process. He focuses instead on the breeze that’s drying the sweat on his back and making his nipples perk up, wondering if they’re good enough for Vegas. As awkward as he feels, he still wants this for Thor. 

He starts listening when the judges start listing off alternative names for their group, which Thor takes with a smile — then says they’re thinking about going with something literal like the Hand Jobs. He does a good job of looking authentically confused when they sputter and tell him no, that isn’t a good idea and from Simon,  _ are you just fucking with us  _ that Steve is sure won’t make it to broadcast. 

They do get the yeses they need to go to Vegas and a warning to make it more theatrical next time. 


	2. Chapter 2

“My first question, do you even listen to song pick before performance,” Natasha says when she gets to their side of the gym in Vegas. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, bringing her face into sharp relief. She looks from Steve to Thor, letting her gaze settle there.  

Steve straightens his posture in response. “Enough for timing?” 

“Wrong answer,” she says, and swings around to face the camera that followed her in. “You need to give us minute, then we film.” 

“Sure,” the guy says, Rumlow, Steve thinks his name is. Rumlow moves the camera off his shoulder and stepping back to stand against the wall. 

“They want us to build package about how we merged acts,” Natasha says. “I’ve already said is because you’re very strong, very sexy, is very believable.” 

“So what do we have to do?” Steve asks. 

“Brief, small clips,” Natasha pinches the air and sweeps her hand to include the three of them. “Look confused, sexy, etcetera. You can do this?”

“Yes,” Thor says, nodding at Steve until he nods too. 

“Then is settled, good.” Natasha gestures to the cameraman until he ambles back over, and they set up to film an interview for the package. 

Somehow Natasha’s gotten them in for filming before they actually work out. Last time they’d had to squeeze it in after they’d been climbing over each other for four hours, and Thor’s hair was literally stuck to the left side of his face. Steve’s face, not Thor’s. It was a weird practice. 

This isn’t better when it comes to Steve’s comfort levels, but it is less sticky.  

After it’s over and Steve’s face feels like it’s back to a normal colour, Natasha and Thor look at songs on her phone to decide what they’re going to put together. 

Choreography is not something Steve really cares about, so he starts warming up and eyeing the setup across the gym. Someone’s doing one-armed pull-ups in the middle of an obstacle course made up of small platforms. He keeps it up all through Steve’s stretches, and even when Steve lifts himself up on his hands and has to look at him upside-down, he’s holding strong.

Natasha leads their practice, demanding Steve’s full attention as she runs them through more acrobatics than he and Thor normally include. It changes their routine from something Steve was trying force himself into to something new, something more comfortable. 

There’s one move, where Thor has Steve held up above his head in a plank position before Steve curls his legs in and backwards somersaults over Thor’s head to a crouch. 

It’s one they’ve done before, but when he lands in a crouch, Natasha uses his back like a springboard, vaulting herself up and into Thor’s hands, then into a handstand. She does it so fast even Steve is impressed, and he knows she weighs nothing compared to him and the trick isn’t as difficult as what he and Thor had been doing. 

Steve climbs out of the crouch to get ready for her dismount, when she falls into his arms and bounces out and onto her feet. 

“I think glitter there, yes?” Natasha asks Thor, gesturing at Steve. “Something flashy.” 

Thor nods, but taps Natasha on the collarbone. “Near the end, or it will stick and make it difficult to hold.” 

Natasha purses her lips and nods, and looks at Steve. “You have seen Channing Tatum dance?” 

“Yes?” Steve says, trying to figure out which type of dancing she’s referring to. All of it makes him concerned. 

“Then you will be fine for next part,” she says, and makes them sweat through a bastardized version of Pony for the intro to their act. It’s disturbingly aggressive, all hips and shoulders, and Steve hopes that with enough practice his face doesn’t immediately burst into flames when they take the stage to perform. 

* * *

After Clint the archer shows up to chat, they don’t get much more practicing done. He offers to get them all water and fixates on both Thor and Natasha when they drink. 

Steve is pretty sure it’s in his head, but everything feels like it’s slow motion and deliberately sexy after running parts of the act against the Ginuwine soundtrack. Thor and Natasha both looked excited about what pieces they got to work, but all Steve felt was concern. And embarrassment, a whole lot of embarrassment. 

He tries drinking his water slowly so he doesn’t shock his system, making the mistake of looking around to see if they’d had much observation during their run through and noticing the one-armed-pull-up-man was sitting in the midst of foam blocks in the tumbling pit, watching him. 

Steve spits water out and down his shirt.

The guy smirks and waves, and looks like he’s getting up to come over, as if Steve’s embarrassment wasn’t enough at a hundred feet away. 

“Oh shit,” Steve mutters under his breath, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe some of the sweat off his face. It also helps him pretend he’s not standing alone next to a phone still blasting sexy dance music. He takes a deep breath through the fabric before he lets it snap back into position, but he still isn’t ready to see the guy from the other side of the gym now on his side of the gym. 

Standing right in front of Steve, actually. 

“Hi again,” the guy says. It’s gym-in-Chicago Bucky, reality tv Bucky, checking him out from the blush on his face down to his bare feet. 

“Hi,” Steve says. “I didn’t expect—you’re in Vegas?” 

“Yeah, I made it to finals.” Bucky raises a fist in the air. “Was going to tell you before you left but I thought I wrecked my ankle so it was up in the air, whether I made it.” 

Steve drops his eyes to Bucky’s feet. One ankle is wrapped in a compression bandage. “Are you okay now?” 

“Sure,” Bucky says easily. “Well enough.” 

“So what is it you’re doing, exactly?” Steve looks to the other side of the gym, but the equipment offers no clues. 

“Heard  _ AGT _ was using this space for practice.” Bucky shrugs. “Thought I’d see if you made it through.”

“Okay, I thought I was being stalked but now I know for sure,” Steve says. “Did you plan to check out all eight of the practice facilities?” 

“Eight?” Bucky raises his eyebrows, but there’s the start of a playful smile in the corner of his mouth. “What’s the less creepy answer?”

“I am the wrong person to ask,” Steve says, taking another long drink of water until the bottle crinkles. 

They fall silent for a second, until the iPhone abruptly switches to one of the bass-heavy songs Natasha made them warm up to in hopes of getting Steve to loosen up. It didn’t exactly  _ not _ work then, but all it does now is make him think about his body, his hips, his bare feet. 

He goes red. 

“What’s that for,” Bucky says delightedly. “Are you thinking about something creepy?”

“Yes,” Steve says, too fast for it not to be true.  

“I kind of want to ask, but I did come over for a reason,” Bucky says. He jerks his hand to the other side of the gym. “Can I steal you, go over some of those grips you were talking about?”

“I’ll ask,” Steve says, and gets waved on to go ahead when he asks Natasha and Thor. It’s Clint who blatantly checks Bucky out and gives Steve a thumbs up that’s anything but subtle. 

Bucky pretends not to notice, and waits for Steve to collect his gear before leading the way across the gym. “You do own shoes, right?” 

Steve shrugs, feeling a slight hesitation in his right shoulder than he’s going to have to pay attention to tonight. “I do, I just don’t like wearing them.” 

“I’m glad I met you,” Bucky says, and heads straight to the door out of the gym. 

Steve stops short. “Wait, I thought you wanted help?” 

Bucky pauses too, holding open the door. “Yeah, just not here.” 

“Where?” Steve asks, because he’s willing to follow Bucky’s lead but he’s also not an idiot. 

“Let me show you the real gym,” Bucky says, and holds the door for Steve. 

* * *

Steve had to put on his shoes. 

Bucky’s gym is ten minutes away, sandwiched between a nail salon and a divey-looking sushi place, and doesn’t look much better itself. It’s one of those spartan places dominated by concrete and steel, but enough floor mats to make Steve curious. 

“I feel like this would be a good time to ask what show you’re on,” Steve says, looking at someone attempting to run up a curved wall. 

“You mean you didn’t look me up?” Bucky picks his way through different setups until he finds the one he’s looking for. 

“I should have,” Steve says. He really should have, or at least watched more reality tv. “But really, how far would have I have gotten searching for Bucky online?”

“Try searching for the one-armed ninja,” a black guy says, coming around one of the obstacles. He’s good looking too, self-assured in a way that makes Steve turn clumsy. “I’m Sam, Bucky’s trainer.” 

“I’m Steve,” Steve says. It makes Sam aim an elbow towards Bucky’s side with a laugh. Bucky twists away so it doesn’t land. 

“ _ The _ Steve? Hot guy at the gym Steve?” Sam asks, and looks at Bucky. “You just randomly found him here.” 

“The Steve on the talent show that tapes in Vegas,” Bucky corrects, and gestures at the structure in front of them. It’s a pull up bar set between a couple of rungs. The whole thing looks like an accident waiting to happen. “And this is one of the obstacles from my show.” 

“This is an actual thing you do?” Steve asks, looking at it so he doesn’t look at Bucky and try and figure out how he does it with one arm. 

“Yeah, see,” Bucky says. He moves up to the bar, bouncing on the balls of his feet before reaches up to close his hand around the bar. The muscles in his arm and shoulder are obvious under the strain of his entire body weight hanging from one arm. 

Steve eyes the structure, wondering what makes this an obstacle instead of a gym exercise when Bucky rolls his body forward and up, freeing the bar so it can notch into the next slot up and become the next rung on the ladder. The technique requires Bucky to keep his weight balanced exactly between the ends of the bar so it doesn’t tilt while somehow leveraging his body to get the momentum to push upwards—which he does like a machine for the six rungs of the ladder. 

“Those physics should not be possible,” Steve says to himself. The weird forward motion works, even if Bucky looks like he’s struggling to get out of a pillowcase. 

“You’re telling me,” Sam says. “This entire competition kicks your ass and he still manages to make the salmon ladder look easy.” 

“I’ve figured this out already,” Bucky calls out once he gets to the top, then drops to the mat below. “I have actual questions for you about something else.”

Whatever that is, Steve hopes it’ll be on more familiar ground than this. Understanding the physics of how to do moving pull ups with one arm is not his forte. It’d definitely be better if Thor was here, but Steve’ll do his best. 

Linking his fingers around Steve’s wrist, Bucky directs him to a setup with two plexiglass walls set about four feet apart. Sam trails them silently.

“This is the jumping spider,” Bucky says, dropping Steve’s wrist when they’re standing between the walls. 

“Sure,” Steve says. He has to take Bucky’s word for it, because nothing he’s saying really makes sense. He wraps his hand over his wrist where Bucky’s fingers made it feel hot. 

“I obviously have issues with being able to do it,” Bucky says. “I want to see you to climb it.” 

Steve hesitates for a long minute, afraid of saying the wrong thing when he’s obviously missing the punchline. He looks at Bucky helplessly, then eyes Sam for a clue. 

“Fine, take your shoes off and then climb it,” Bucky says with a snort. 

Steve kneels with some relief and undoes the laces on his runners. This feels more natural, like he’s about to figure out a new position. He straightens to look at the plexiglass more carefully. “Just climb it?” 

“Sure,” Bucky says, and takes a step back. His shoulders are brought up tight together, like he’s playing this off but it really means a lot. 

Steve jumps straight up and puts his feet against the plexiglass to catch his weight, feeling the soles of his feet catch against the sides and hold him still. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at Bucky with a frown. “Okay?” 

“What,” Sam says from behind them. “So you found Spider-Man to help you on this.” 

“Now you make it from there to me,” Bucky says, backing up until he’s at the end of the plexiglass corridor. 

Steve’s starting to figure out why he’s here. He eyes the corridor, then looks at his toes gripping the plastic. “With one arm?” 

“Preferably,” Bucky says. 

“Okay,” Steve says. He weighs out his options, then moves. Right arm goes to the wall, bracing his weight against it so he can shift his right foot to the left wall. Feet on the left so he can move forward, using the support of his right arm to keep him up when he lets go with his feet. 

His reach is long enough that it takes a few feet to extend himself, and then he can swing his right foot over for the brace, move his arm, and continue. 

Sam whistles slowly. “Okay, I think there is a possibility you can do this, Buck. Just be Spider-Man here.” 

“Just have to do it differently than everyone else,” Bucky says, now underneath Steve’s progress. 

“You need to be sure you have your balance before you move,” Steve says, lifting his arm when he has a foot on each wall again. He looks behind him. Bucky’s watching his ass intently. Well, Steve can hope. “Might be easier if you don’t have to go straight up.” 

“I have to go up from a tramp,” Bucky says. 

“Uncontrolled momentum might cause a problem.” Steve thinks about it and shifts his foot over so he can drop down to the mat. “Can we try it?” 

Sam drags over a small floor tramp, like what Bucky had been using in the first gym. It goes just beyond the obstacle so he has to jump forward into the structure. Steve moves behind Bucky to watch his form. 

Bucky lets out a long breath as he studies the walls. He takes a running leap to the tramp and then goes up into the space, feet sliding against the plexiglass as his upper body continues forward—

He falls before he can plant his feet.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, wiping his hand over his face. 

“Again,” Steve says. He moves to stand in front of Bucky this time, holding his hands out to catch the forward motion of Bucky’s chest. He carefully does not think about what it feels like. 

Bucky grunts when he slips again, Steve’s hands the only reason he stays on the plexiglass. There’s still too much momentum with nowhere for it to go.

“Do you feel it,” Steve asks. “When your balance shifts?” 

“Yes,” Bucky grits out, left foot sliding. “How do I stop it.” 

“We can’t stop it,” Steve says, and lets go of Bucky’s chest so he can drop to the floor. He steps back, thinking about the space and what he has to make Bucky’s body do in it. There aren’t weeks to train Bucky in the art of hand balancing, not in the way it has to count. 

Bucky scowls, rubbing a hand over his stump before turning around to glare at the tramp. “I don’t have enough time to learn it your way.”

“So we make up another way,” Steve says, circling around Bucky to take his own run at it. He launches himself in the air with a forward half-twist, giving him enough time to dispel the momentum and balance both feet on the left and an arm on the right.

Bucky stares up at him, hand in a fist at his side. “Another way.” 

“Well, it’s not like you’re doing that pull up thing the normal way, I’m guessing,” Steve says. Though it’s intense, he can’t force himself to break eye contact, making the heat rise in his face even as his feet and hands don’t break a sweat. 

“No shit,” Bucky says. He ducks underneath the buttress of Steve’s arm and goes to the tramp. “Now move, I want to try.”

He doesn’t make it until the fourth go, but once he has the memory of it in his body, he makes it consistently. Steve has to stop standing in front of him after the sixth time, because Bucky hits the landing and then winds his body forward like a motor. 

There’s a different kind of tightness in Bucky’s back and shoulders now, one that reads more like anticipation than frustration. Steve likes to think he can take credit for it even if he can’t put his hands to Bucky’s body and offer to work the tension out. 

He’s standing with Sam, watching Bucky sweat his way through the wall in increasingly fluid motions, when his phone goes off with a reminder that he has to intake protein and then sleep in thirty minutes. 

“I need to get back to my hotel,” Steve says apologetically. “But I think you have this.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says when he gets to the end of the wall and gets to let go. He’s breathing heavy, but not winded. It’s a good sign. “You have no idea, but thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, feeling his face go red in the face of gratitude. 

“We film tomorrow night.” Bucky shifts to slide his hand into his pocket, finding nothing on his shorts and just tangling his fingers in the fabric. “Are you free?” 

“I can be?” Steve says. 

“I want you to be there,” Bucky says without looking at Steve. “If you want?” 

“Of course,” Steve says. “Do I have to do anything special?”

“No, Sam’ll bring a shirt for you,” Bucky says. “We’ve been each other’s cheering sections up to this point.”

“He’s the lone wolf,” Sam says, and makes a tiny howl towards the ceiling. “But you can be part of our wolf pack.” 

“Of course you have a cool ninja name,” Steve says. “I’m starting to wish my act had something.”

“No way, yours has that unexpected factor,” Sam says. “I saw you on Youtube.” 

“Thanks again,” Bucky breaks in. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Steve says definitively. They exchange phone numbers, and Bucky promises to text Steve the information for the filming so he won’t get stopped by security. 

Steve finds himself lingering, knowing he needs to go back to the hotel to take care of himself but wanting to stay.

“Don’t forget your shoes!” Bucky says. Steve blushes through the entire time it takes to find them and put them on, but Bucky stands right beside him like maybe he wants to drag out the moment just as much. 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve’s mind is entirely on practice the next day because he owes it to Thor, to Natasha, and also because he has to fling all one hundred and eighty eight pounds of his body into the air. It might come naturally, but it’s easy to make mistakes no one can afford. 

It’s a testament to how closely they’ve been working together that when they take a break for water and stretching, Natasha just has to look at Thor and Steve knows they’re on to him. 

“He’s a friend training for a ninja competition,” Steve says, head buried between his knees as he tries to fold his body in half, as flat as possible. “Asked me for some help last night. I’m going to see him on the show tonight.” 

“Really,” Natasha says. She’s lying on her back in a neutral position while Thor hangs above her in a modified plank. 

“If it’s serious, we should meet him,” Thor says. 

“It’s only three exclamation points serious,” Steve says. He has the text on his phone to prove it. He can hear a shift against the mat that might mean Natasha’s looking at him. 

Thor mumbles something down into Natasha’s face that Steve doesn’t catch.

“When you get emojis, we will have talk.” Natasha laughs a little under her breath. 

Thor turns his head to look at Steve. “Maybe adopt him into the act?” 

“Don’t marry us yet,” Steve says, and gets to his feet to work through his grip.

Rumlow the cameraman comes closer when he does, and they shake off the talk of the personal for the faux sexual tension they’ve developed for the camera. Steve’s part is limited to blushing and looking awkward when they ask him questions about what they’re doing and luckily, that’s in his wheelhouse. 

Natasha looks at him knowingly a few times the rest of the afternoon, but thankfully they don’t talk about ninjas again. 

Thor is still his roommate in the hotel, despite whatever he and Natasha may or may not have going with Clint. He doesn’t say anything when Steve puts on his best pair of track pants for the night instead of wrapping sore limbs, but he’s reading his book too intently to actually be unaware of what’s going on. 

Steve looks at himself in the mirror near the door, wondering if he should have done his hair differently. He picks at it, wondering if he should try wearing a hat, or whether Bucky would even notice. 

Biting his lip, Steve turns back to his roommate. “Thor, should I—”

“Go, you’re beautiful the way you are,” Thor says without looking up from his book. 

“Okay, thanks,” Steve says. His phone buzzes then from his Uber, forcing him down to the hotel’s lobby. Even though most of the remaining contestants recorded interviews earlier in the day, Steve included, there’s a cameraman set up in the corner to film another. Their usual camera crew is hanging off to the side, so Steve lifts one hand in a wave when he slips out the door. 

His Uber delivers him right to the visitor’s gate at the filming lot. As promised, Bucky has his name on the list of visitors and a PA ready with directions. Steve finds his way to a holding area where Sam is helping Bucky warm up. Despite the experience on  _ AGT, _ Steve feels a bit awkward in the midst of so much performative masculinity. 

“You’re here,” Bucky says delightedly, pulling himself out of a stretch to pull Steve in for a hug. 

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, hesitating just a second before closing his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky is warm and they fit together well even if the contact doesn’t last all that long. 

“Hey man, I wasn’t sure of what size you’d wear,” Sam says, throwing a gray shirt at Steve. “But now I think I should have gone with extra room for muscles.” 

“Sorry, it’s competition gear,” Steve says. His nicest shirt is still from their second performance, white Under Armour that was tight before they started building muscle with Natasha’s routine. 

“I’m not complaining,” Bucky says. He doesn’t bother to hide his grin when he goes back to stretching. 

Steve pulls the lone wolf shirt on overtop, smoothing the logo over his chest. The wolf silhouette is centered over a red star, which—he checks—is different than the one Sam’s wearing. “Should I be concerned that this one’s different than yours?” 

“You’re wearing new logo lone wolf,” Sam says, tapping at his own logo. “And since mine is lucky I can’t break the streak.” 

“Not until I go swimming,” Bucky says randomly. 

“That’s what you fall into, if you miss,” Sam tells Steve. It’s kind of an unhelpful explanation. 

Steve just nods. It’ll probably make more sense when he sees Bucky perform—compete? 

“I’m in group c,” Bucky says. “When they round us up, Sam’ll take you to the sidelines, but you can go to the stands for now. I gotta focus.” 

“Sure,” Steve says. He hesitates over the protocol. Does he shake Bucky’s hand, wish him luck, hug him again? But Sam makes the decision when he knocks his shoulder into Steve’s and starts herding him towards the staging area. 

“He’s gotta get into his headspace,” Sam says. “Not exactly something we can help with.” 

“I hope me being here doesn’t mess him up.” Steve trails slightly behind Sam, keeping his eyes on Sam’s gray tee. Sam shrugs, looking over his shoulder just enough that Steve can see the flash of teeth, hopefully in a positive way.

The setup surprises him by how big it is. Between contestants, a PA moves them into place in the stands to wait for Bucky’s group to be called. Friends and family of the other contestants cluster together in matching shirts and holding up signs when the ASM signals them. 

They end four rows up in the stands, where Steve can fully appreciate the scope of what Bucky’s trying to do. And—

“You tried out too?” Steve asks Sam when they sit down to watch. 

“Yep, arms gave out on the devil steps.” Sam shrugs. “Honestly, I only tried out to keep up with him since they’d pay for contestants and not trainers. Helps if you understand the obstacle when you’re trying to solve it.”

“I’d agree with that,” Steve says, and looks over to the spider thing he’d helped Bucky with. 

From this angle the distance between the walls looks daunting. And oh, water. He gets the swim reference now, especially after two of the three competitors drop into the tank after only a few obstacles. 

An ASM calls up the stands to Sam when Bucky must be on deck, and they climb down to find a spot near the starting obstacle. There’s a long alleyway beside the course that Steve assumes is supposed to give them a clear view of everything. 

“Either he ends up there,” Sam says, pointing to the buzzer at the top of the rope ladder that’s the end of the course, “or he ends up in the water. They’ll pull him into a quick interview either way, and we can congratulate him after.”

“Think positive, do positive?” Steve asks. He can see Bucky now, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he keeps his back to the start. His hair is tied back tightly and he has a red bandana around his forehead as insurance. 

Sam doesn’t answer, so Steve looks over at him. He’s frowning in concentration, arms folded tight over his chest. Steve settles for shoving his in his pockets, and resolves to keep his mouth shut. 

A tone counts down into the start, three beeps that don’t break Bucky’s focus on the course ahead before he launches. 

He flies through the quadruple steps of the first obstacle. The second one is a high-mounted propeller, which two guys already dropped at but Bucky manages to do one-handed and it looks simple. 

Steve starts to breathe a little easier, but he changes his mind when he looks at Sam. He’s intent in the same way Bucky is—what does Sam know from doing the course that Steve doesn’t?

He doesn’t really know what it takes to get through most of the obstacles, not personally, let alone the physics required to re-work them for a single hand grip. And Bucky makes it look easy, wrapping the silk of the next obstacle around his upper body and shoulder while maintaining a grip on the slippery material with his right hand. 

It has to be exhausting. Steve at least knows this from experience, working with one-handed lifts and his own body weight. It’s doable, but there’s going to be a point where Bucky’s body says enough regardless of his ability in practice. 

Of course this is when Bucky’s hand slips on the silk and loosens the makeshift harness, nearly dropping him into the water a foot before the landing raft. His left foot dips dangerously close to the water’s surface and Sam grabs for Steve’s hand, clenching it tight to his chest. 

Steve assumes even a foot wet counts as disqualification—but Bucky manages to fall to his knees on the raft and stay dry. He looks unaffected by the close call, like he hasn’t even noticed. It must be a good sign.

“Okay,” Steve says to reassure himself.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam agrees, startling him. It’s like Steve breaking the silence gives Sam permission to cheer. He doesn’t let go, dragging Steve down the course to follow Bucky’s progress to the spider thing. 

This one Steve knows, and he grips Sam’s hand back. It’s partly anticipation but mostly nerves, thrumming beneath his sternum the same way he feels before walking on stage. 

Taking a few precious seconds to wipe the bottoms of his shoes, Bucky takes a run to the trampoline and jumps. 

Steve can’t breathe in the time Bucky’s in the air. Those walls seem impossibly far apart, even for someone who can land it traditionally, two feet and two arms braced against the sides. He closes his eyes for a second, hoping his trick works—because that’s all it is, a circus trick, a shot in the dark. 

Everyone in the crowd behind, the announcers, Sam, they seem to gasp in one breath, which could mean— 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. 

But. 

There’s no splash, no buzzer that sounds out the end of the line. Steve chances opening one eye, and Bucky’s already halfway through the obstacle. 

“Shit,” he breathes out, lost underneath Sam’s yelling. 

The crowd’s loud again too, pressing in on Steve like it does at  _ AGT.  _ At least there it’s limited to after the performance. 

He doesn’t know how Bucky’s kept his focus. His expression hasn’t changed since he started, like he thinks he’s the only one out there, that he’s alone. Maybe that’s why he’s the lone wolf ninja. 

Bucky rockets through the circle of stepping stones, but the curved wall gives him trouble on the first try. 

On the second, he gets enough height from the runup to get his elbow up on the platform with one foot as his secondary hold. From there, it’s easy to roll his body weight over and onto the platform. 

There’s only two obstacles left, a series of round platforms held up by chains and a bunch of hanging bars leading up to a rope ladder and the finish line. 

The platforms Steve figures Bucky can handle no problem, but the bars have him worried. It’s a lot of weight to hang from a single arm, especially at the end of the course. He’s somewhat impressed by the minds it would take to put this together.

As expected, Bucky takes the platforms in a few long steps and doesn’t hesitate before the ramp up towards the first bar on the next obstacle. His grip is good. Swinging his body like a pendulum, he transfers the momentum forward onto the next bar. 

This would be the moment it’d be easy to fall, Steve thinks, hand softening when it should be holding firm, body slipping free before the brain even realizes what happened. 

He closes his eyes again, not wanting to look for signs of weakness in Bucky’s arm. 

All he can hear is the roar of the crowd, Sam distant but still yelling, the pounding of his own adrenaline. 

He doesn’t want to miss the end, however it comes. 

Steve opens his eyes, holds his breath for the second it takes Bucky to swing from the third bar and land high into the rope netting that leads to the finish line. It’s good, less distance for him to manage. 

He makes the final few feet look easy, keeps his weight pushed into the net for balance when he changes his hand grip and is up pushing a button at the finish before Steve remembers he should be breathing. 

There’s a noise, the clock stops, and Bucky lifts his hand in a triumphant fist as fog starts to fill the platform around him. 

“Yes!” Sam screams, mostly in Steve’s ear. “Did you see that? Yes!” 

Steve knows he looks stunned but at least his mouth isn’t hanging open. The fog starts to billow down from the platform until he can’t see Bucky standing up there anymore. 

“Sorry man,” Sam says, finally releasing Steve’s hand. It tingles a bit at the sudden relief, but Steve just smiles. 

He knocks his arm into Sam’s shoulder. “It’s alright, helped me too.” 

Sam nods, and then gestures to the other side of the course, where Bucky is being interviewed by the tall blonde woman from the tv crew. “We can go see him, if you want.” 

Steve does want, so they make their way over. She’s asking things about his energy, how he pushed through, how he felt, and Steve takes an involuntary step back. 

“No man, it’s okay,” Sam says and drags Steve into a three person huddle with Bucky with the cameras still on. 

Steve feels every inch of where his body is uncomfortably close to Bucky’s. He’s still breathing heavy, skin hot and face sweaty when he presses it against Steve’s neck. His hand is trembling between them, so Steve grabs it so he has something to hold on to while his muscles recover. 

They shift back to give Bucky a bit more room, but he tightens his grip on Steve’s instead of letting go. 

“Now’s when we howl,” Sam mumbles at Steve, his own hand clasped around the back of Bucky’s neck. 

Steve shrugs, tilts his head back and does his best  _ arooo _ , voice echoing over the lot, howling alone—

He tips his chin back down to glare at Sam’s open laughter. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” Sam wheezes, breaking off from their huddle. “You are way too trusting.” 

Steve scowls, but he’s still attached to Bucky so he doesn’t go after Sam. 

“Shit, that about made my night,” Bucky says, taking a step closer until he’s practically curled under Steve’s left bicep. 

Stiffening a bit in surprise, Steve notices there’s still one camera trained on them as they follow a PA it to the post-run area, but he can’t imagine why. He shifts his arm a bit as they walk but can’t tell if Bucky’s still shaking. 

Bucky steps away once they reach the area behind the stands, shaking his hand out and taking the towel Sam offers. “Sorry, it’s the adrenaline.” 

“I didn’t mind, really,” Steve says. He takes the second towel from Sam, rubbing it briskly over Bucky’s muscles in the same way he’s done for Thor the past few months. 

“Uh,” Bucky starts to say, but he loosens his stance to let Steve have better access to his legs. 

“Don’t even think of adding that to my job description,” Sam says, but he at least goes to get Bucky a Gatorade.

“I can come back, if you want,” Steve says, smiling up at Bucky while he works gently on the gastrocnemius muscle. No signs of fatigue, but it’s slightly hot to the touch when Steve lays the back of his hand on it. Nothing unusual considering the course he just ran. 

“Yes, please come back to touch me,” Bucky lets his head fall back, then snaps it forward to look for cameras. 

Thankfully, they’ve been left alone. 

“You need to come back next week,” Bucky says. “You’re my good luck charm.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Steve says, ducking his head when Sam comes back with Bucky’s Gatorade. 

Steve stays until Bucky’s finished most of his electrolytes, well after he’s stopped saying anything and has these long stares that Steve finds familiar. 

He’s already out past the suggested curfew, but the Uber to take him back comes quickly and discreetly. 

The hotel lobby is nearly deserted, with only Rumlow the cameraman left packing up his stuff. 

“Hey Steve,” Rumlow says, zipping his last bag shut. 

“They have you working late?” Steve asks, wondering if Rumlow can tell where he’s been or if he’ll assume Steve’s been out drinking, like some of the contestants do. 

“Just a few wrap-ups to drive up the drama.” Rumlow nods at Steve’s chest. “You go to a bachelor party?” 

“What?” Steve looks down at the wolf on his shirt. “No, I—my friend was competing, I went to see him.” 

“Like on that ninja show?” Rumlow asks curiously. 

“Kind of,” Steve says. “Listen, I should get to my room, we’ve got early runs tomorrow on stage.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Rumlow says, and tells Steve to have a good night. 


	4. Chapter 4

Morning comes way too early. Steve wakes up with lines from the sheets on his biceps and face. Thor is disgustingly cheerful, doing squats between their beds with a protein bar in each hand. 

“Greatest of mornings,” Thor says, and tosses the unopened bar onto Steve’s bed. 

Steve rolls over, not tired, but not ready to get up either. “Agree to disagree.” 

“I should have asked about your night,” Thor says, and when Steve lifts his head he’s grinning, rubbing at his right calf. 

“Well,” Steve says, shifting around until he can prop himself up on one elbow. “It was pretty good.” 

“I’m glad,” Thor says, flashing a grin at him. “Now eat, we have practice in thirty.” 

Steve falls back against the mattress with a groan, searching blindly for the protein bar in his sheets. He gets up after he’s eaten it, doing a few quick stretches to wake his body up before they go to catch a van to the gym. 

When they get there, Natasha’s already mid-warmup. She holds her arms out stiffly behind her, then throws herself forward into a twist that leaves her facing them. 

“Good morning,” Thor says, and holds out the extra cup of green tea he’d brought. 

“Hello,” Natasha says, coming forward to accept it. Steve doesn’t focus on whatever they have going on, instead stripping off his hoodie and working on warming up his arms. 

They’ve just started working the routine together when a show rep comes by to observe. It’s happened before. Sometimes they’ll interrupt to ask a few questions, or ask them to fall on film so it’ll build the narrative. 

Today, the woman watches them go through their routine once and interrupts even as Pony starts again on repeat. 

“A word,” she says, expression barely changing as she looks from Natasha to Thor to Steve. 

“With who,” Natasha says. She dismisses the woman’s carefully constructed authority with a swipe of her hand across her sweaty forehead, turning to grab her water. 

“Steve,” the woman says, and after a beat, “please.” 

“Sure,” Steve says, giving Natasha and Thor a bewildered look. Maybe it’s about being out past curfew, but they haven’t cared about that unless it’s the day before the show tapes. 

She leads Steve into the hallway and into an office, closing the door behind them. 

“Steve, I’m Meredith,” she says, shaking his hand before taking a seat. Her navy blue pantsuit looks out of place in the midst of gym detritus. “I’m here about the network’s interests.” 

“Okay,” he says, sinking slowly down into the chair opposite hers. Maybe she’s going to tell them they have to bomb their next performance so they’ll be voted off. Shit, he’s in here, that means he’ll be the one who has to bomb it. He rubs his hands against his track pants. 

“You may not be aware, but we also produce  _ American Ninja Warrior,” _ Meredith says. “When reviewing the footage from last night’s taping, we noticed you were in the crowd. You can’t be.” 

“What?” Steve asks. He leans forward, shifting to the edge of his chair, then forces himself back before Meredith can react. He’s big, and even simple movements can look threatening.

She just blinks at him, hands out of sight behind the desk. 

Steve hopes she doesn’t have a panic button or a taser. 

“You’re not on contract for multiple properties. We can’t have viewers connecting you, the performer, with you, the fanboy.” 

“Does this have anything to do with—my being friends with a competitor,” Steve says. “Someone who I kind of  _ like  _ like? Who is a boy? Man. Who is a man.” 

“No,” Meredith says evenly. Her face is carefully blank. Maybe she missed Steve’s brief impersonation of a fourth grader. 

“So what does this mean, exactly,” Steve says, forcing his hands to be still. 

“You can’t be on another property, cheering on your boyfriend while you’re in competition on  _ America’s Got Talent _ .” Meredith clears her throat. “Not because he’s your boyfriend, but because we can’t have any confusion over summer tv properties. You understand.” 

“Sure, I understand,” Steve echoes, and is glad to get up when she says goodbye. 

Rumlow’s leaning against the wall in the hallway outside, next to one of the banners that declares it  _ AGT _ rehearsal space. 

“I’m sorry,” Rumlow says to him as he goes past. 

“For what?” Steve asks, tugging at the hem of his shirt. It’s slightly loose around his waist, so he must have grabbed one of Thor’s. 

“They asked when you got in last night, where you went,” Rumlow says. “Didn't know they'd have a problem with it.”

Steve stops for a second, eyeing Rumlow up. He looks sincere, and since Steve himself didn’t know both shows were on the same network, it could even be true. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Steve says finally, with a shrug. “The show must go on.” 

Despite saying that, he’s preoccupied the rest of practice, torn between supporting Bucky or following orders to stay in his own competition. It wouldn't just affect him. He'd lose it for Natasha and Thor too, and he can't live with that. 

He doesn't fumble any of the holds and when he uses Thor’s shoulders as a springboard to jump over him, he nails the landing four times out of five. 

It's good, even for a less upsetting day. 

Natasha still looks suspicious, staring at him as he dusts off his hands to try again. She at least waits until they break for dinner before asking. It's mostly proteins and chocolate milk to rebuild after the morning’s workout. 

They'll have a rest session before starting up again, a sort of bastardized yoga Thor’s promoted since the first time Steve showed up for practice. 

“What's up,” Natasha asks, carefully spearing chicken, egg, and cucumber on her fork. 

“Nothing,” Steve says. He's eating his yogurt, studiously counting the berries in it. Twelve raspberries, halved. 

Natasha chews at the corner of her mouth. “You should tell me or I’ll think your problem is my music choices.”

“It's not your taste in music,” Steve says. He takes a bite and looks over at her through the corner of his eye. 

She's watching him steadily, but it's Thor’s expression that surprises him, thoughtful and a little sad. 

“I realize this isn't your dream,” Thor says. “But I appreciate you being here to make mine possible.”

“It's not that,” Steve says immediately, around a mouthful of yogurt. He swallows and tries to explain some of what he's feeling. “I like hand balancing, doing these routines with you. If I wasn't here, I'd still be working my way through punching bags.”

Natasha opens her mouth to ask about it, but changes her mind after exchanging a meaningful glance with Thor. It’s kind of disturbing, how in tune they are with each other. 

“The show, not my thing, really,” Steve continues, stirring his yogurt. “But I think you know that. I don't enjoy being in the spotlight so much, but I want to help you get there.”

“So then why this,” Thor says, and pulls his mouth and brows down into an exaggerated pout. 

Steve snorts softly, but doesn’t disagree. It’s pretty accurate. “I got in trouble.” 

“Why?” Thor asks, sitting up like he’s going to go to Steve’s defense without even knowing what it’s for.

“They found out I went to see Bucky compete, and apparently I'm not allowed,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder up near his ear. There's a slight answering tightness in his other shoulder blade that he'll need to work out. 

“Not allowed,” Natasha repeats, accent disappearing. “Not allowed to what, to support your boyfriend on his show?”

“I don't know that we’re that yet,” Steve says, then hurries to clarify when Natasha scowls. “Oh, no, I'm allowed to be gay, just not while I'm on the show.”

“Steve.” Thor shifts forward with concern.

Steve can feel himself start to go red. “No, I mean, I can't be seen on his show while I'm on our show? Network rules.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “That is stupidest thing I hear today, and Thor said I couldn't land triple twist from throw.” 

“I was going to ask him to watch us tomorrow,” Steve says. “Starting to think it's not a great idea.” 

“No,” Natasha says, with a careful look to Thor. 

“I'm not going to ruin this for you,” Steve says. “I’m in it to the end, whenever that is.”

“Thank you,” Thor says, reaching out to grip Steve’s forearm. 

“So do I, on behalf of choreography,” Natasha says, one side of her mouth slipping up in a smile. “Hate to rework if they kick you out.”

Steve frowns. “They wouldn't. Could they?”

“You had family emergency,” Natasha says, straightening her shoulders and flattening her voice. “Harder now they know your name but not impossible. Or ‘America’ votes us all out.” 

“That's awful,” Steve says. The sick feeling in his chest knows she’s right. “I won't let them do that.” 

“Then we toe line,” Natasha says. “More importantly, I have question. What kind of name is Bucky?”

* * *

They have final costume fittings that afternoon after rehearsal. By the time it’s over, Steve’s body is stiff from both the workout and dried sweat. He feels like he crinkles when he moves, ready to call it a day.

Thor has the same idea, so after a quick dinner of fruit and chicken, they go back to their room for an early night. On the elevator ride up, Steve rolls his shoulders back, trying to get a bit more flex back in his shoulders. 

There isn’t much room for proper stretching, but they make do with the space between the beds. Thor prefers to stretch in silence, nothing but the faint hum of the air conditioner as their soundtrack. 

Steve’s in the middle of a series of stretches when his phone rings, startling them both. 

Thor drops his leg from where he's been holding it to his chest, frowning a little at the phone on the nightstand. 

“Sorry, I'll just take that over here,” Steve says, stepping out of warrior two to grab his phone. He retreats to the bathroom so he doesn't disturb Thor as he returns to stretching. 

“Hello,” Steve says quietly, looking himself over in the bathroom mirror. His hair’s getting longer on top, enough that Natasha's started including him in her French braid plans too. 

“Hey Steve, it's Bucky,” Bucky says. “I, uh, texted about dinner but I didn't hear anything from you.”

“I left my phone in my room, sorry,” Steve says. He’s not sure what he would have said even if he’d had it. 

“Well, okay.” Bucky says. “You did eat though?” 

“I ate,” Steve says. He catches a glimpse of his stupid smile in the mirror. He doesn’t hate it. 

“Good, good,” Bucky says. He clears his throat once. “I also wanted to say break a leg about tomorrow.”

“Right, thank you,” Steve says, feeling a warm rush of affection. “You know we film?”

“I know it's live. I can read the internet.” 

“It's online, right,” Steve says. He’s so fixed on the routine and what happens inside the auditorium, he forgets things happen after.

“No, Sam told me, he's quite the fanboy.” 

“And you?” Steve asks. He lets himself hope, wide eyed in the mirror.

“Well, I tried to take you to dinner as a thank you, but you didn't let me,” Bucky says, voice warm over the phone. 

“Not yet, at least?” Steve says and flushes at his boldness. “It’d be better when I'm not carb loading. I don't want you to watch me eat a bunch of meat.”

Bucky bursts out laughing. “Shit, Steve, are you trying to be the worst at flirting?”

“I'm not, it's all cranberries and chicken right now. And you make me nervous,” he defends himself, and then catches sight of his face in the mirror, the way he looks unusually happy. He lowers his voice, aiming for sultry. “Unless you want to watch me eat some meat.” 

There's silence on Bucky's end, then just a long ragged breath letting out. “I take it back, not the worst at flirting.”

Steve opens his mouth and closes it on a few things he’s not ready to say. “I have my moments.” 

“That you do,” Bucky says, voice rougher than Steve’s heard it. “So stage two is next week. You, ah, want a free pass again? I can make Sam promise to be nicer.” 

“I can’t,” Steve says too quickly, and he can almost feel Bucky recoil on the other end. He doesn’t mean it, not really, but he’s thinking about how he can’t go and also hope to stay on  _ AGT.  _

“Well,” Bucky starts, but Steve’s already talking again.

“I mean, I don’t know if I can. It depends on the competition.” 

“Fair enough,” Bucky says. “Scared me for a second there. Thought maybe Sam scared you off.” 

“Takes more than that to embarrass me,” Steve says. He performs half-naked in front of millions of people, and apparently whoever watches it on Youtube. 

“Get back to me, okay?” Bucky says. “Or maybe we can grab that dinner.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “It’s a date.” 

“Okay, it is,” Bucky says. “And tomorrow, channel eight. I’ll be watching. Unless that’s going to throw you off? Then I take it back.” 

“Ha,” Steve says, and lets Bucky talk at him for a while so he won’t ask Bucky to come watch him perform. 

* * *

“We’re going to ask y’all some questions,” the PA says, staying out of Rumlow’s way as he sets up his camera tripod. “You’ve covered how training’s going, so focus on how you think the performance is going to go?”

“We have done this before,” Natasha says mid-stretch, focused on a point on the far wall. It’s part of her pre-performance routine, much like Steve’s is to recite the pledge of allegiance in his head until the nausea goes away. 

“Sure, okay,” the PA says, hanging around for an awkward couple of seconds before pretending to be called over to another set of contestants. 

Rumlow gives them a thumbs up when he’s finished with the camera. 

With the difference in height from Thor and Steve to Natasha, they film these seated to keep editing simple. Unluckily, Steve gets sandwiched between them. He knows it’s so his silence is less noticeable, but he still feels like a child in this setup. 

An ASM comes over to make sure they’re positioned correctly, flipping to a page on her clipboard to read off some questions.  _ What are audiences in for tonight, how are rehearsals going, did you have a favourite moment from practice.  _ Their answers are all spliced together post-production, but the random order of the asking makes Steve even less comfortable in answering.

“And you, Steve,” the ASM says, after hearing about Natasha explain their costumes in an exaggerated accent and filming a solid minute of Thor flexing his left bicep. “Tell me about something audiences can look forward to in your act?” 

Steve flushes, trying to think of a safe thing to say. “We’ve been practicing really hard so I think it’ll be really good.”

“Okay,” the ASM says. “Anything specific?”

“I’m surprisingly flexible,” Steve tells the camera, looking straight into it like he can see Bucky on the other side. If this even makes it to air. 

“Oh,” the ASM says. She goes red too, and flips another sheet on the clipboard. “Okay, great. Um, I don’t know if we can use that. Anything else?”

“He’s no Channing Tatum,” Thor cuts in. “But who is?” 

“Great, thanks,” she says, and closes it down with a few extra framing shots of Natasha playing with their hair and Thor throwing his head back, pretending to laugh. 

Steve’s never going to trust anything he sees on tv again. 

They go to change before warm ups, baggy black pants with leather-look pieces to catch the stage lights. Steve leaves his tearaway hoodie off for now, wanting to be able to feel his muscles respond to warmups. 

That feels familiar, at least, Steve’s hands on Thor’s thighs to brace him as he leans into a pose, Natasha folding herself in half in her own routines. All of it’s different, the look, the music, the way it feels. 

Steve focuses on what he knows, running through the routine in his head as he stretches. They start together in a line for the dance part of the routine. The choreography is lifted entirely from Magic Mike, Natasha using a rope to twist around before they swagger around on stage. Then a well-timed series of spinning hook kicks and other taekwondo moves before moving into hand balancing proper. Then, Steve can breathe deep. 

If they do it right, it’ll be fast and sexy and aggressive. And hopefully impressive enough to get them through to the finals. Steve doesn’t think about that, just on where his hands and weight to be in order to make this work. 

It’s charged when they do it on stage, the heat of Thor’s skin under his hands, the soft cotton of Natasha’s pants, the sound of feet hitting the floor mats. 

The judges tell them they’ve finally succeeded in bringing the sexy out to the performance, a welcome contrast to the comedy routine. That Natasha adds good balance, that they’re hoping to see more of what they can do once votes are in from America. 

It all sounds positive, but Steve won’t hold his breath. 

They watch a few others from the sidelines, Steve carefully angling his head away so it’s not as obvious that he’s not really looking. He shoves his hands into the pockets of the real sweatshirt he’s wearing now, mind going to his phone. It’s tucked into his bag in the dressing room, far away but still a temptation. 

He knows it’s not a good idea to talk to Bucky, but it doesn’t make him want it any less. Maybe find out if he was watching and how his training’s going. If he’s offended that Steve didn’t invite him here tonight. That thought makes his feet go cold with nerves, even after his performance. He shifts awkwardly on the sidelines, slipping to the back of the group when one person finishes and the next takes their place. 

He welcomes Natasha’s interruption after they’ve seen Clint do something with a ring and arrows, everything on fire, following her back to the showers to wash off the sweat of the performance. 

They separate there for their own rooms. Steve hangs his costume up neatly next to the well-lit tables for hair and makeup for tomorrow night. They’ll be back in costume for the results, and he doesn’t want to make putting it back on worse than it has to be. 

Thor takes the longest in the shower, so Steve joins Natasha in the greenroom after he’s done to wait. She’s on her phone, smirking at something she’s reading and then at him when he comes in. 

“Good?” She asks, accent making the single syllable even shorter. 

“Well,” Steve says, dropping down onto the couch beside the one she’s claimed for her own. It’s soft, some textured material in the red colour nearly all the offstage furniture is. Not exactly comfortable, so Steve gives up and just slides down into it until his body doesn’t feel like much of anything. “That’s another show down.”

Natasha hums in agreement, then shifts to look at him more easily. “If you dislike spotlight so much, why are you here?”

“I made a promise,” Steve says, shrugging. “Besides, the spotlight isn’t so bad. Really.” 

“You hate it,” Natasha says. “I see. Thor sees.” 

“It’s just a season,” Steve says. He almost believes it. 

“You were happier before,” Natasha says. One eyebrow’s quirked as a question:  _ what changed?  _

“Well, I thought I was in control of my life before,” Steve says. He doesn’t think he’d go back to before this all started, but he’d maybe think about it longer next time. 

“No one ever is,” Natasha says. “But if you could?”

“I like the mechanics of it,” Steve says. He holds his hands out, and Natasha sets one foot in them. He works her ankle, feeling the slight hum of the muscle under his thumb. “Figuring it out, what the body has to do to make things happen. Just makes sense.” 

“So I should ask you for choreography?” Natasha asks, flexing the muscles in one leg, then the other. 

“Oh no, I’m bad at making us look good. But a fight, I could tell you how to do that, how to hurt someone or look like you are.” He pulls her foot up towards his face, the space in the corner of his jaw until the tip of her shoe grazes it and pushes his face up. A kick in slow motion. “Not much use nowadays.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Natasha says, looking thoughtful, then takes her foot back. “So, your boyfriend?”

“Friend,” Steve corrects, looking around for any cameras. There’s one set up in the corner. There always is, but neither of them is wearing a lav and the camerperson is on their phone, not paying attention. Any footage captured will be visual only, safe enough. “Just a friend.” 

“Fine,” Natasha says, and rolls her eyes as she settles back into her couch. “Your friend that you like. What’s going on with him?”

“I—” Steve starts, then catches himself before he says anything he’s not willing to share. “Nothing. I didn’t ask him to come watch, it’s not like he didn’t want to come.” 

“So he does not know?” Natasha asks.

“Well, no,” Steve says. He hasn’t even told Bucky he probably can’t make it to his filming next week. If they go to the quarterfinals, there’s a bye next week, so he’d have no excuse for not going.

“Tell him,” Natasha says, more of a command than anything else. 

Steve looks at her warily, but she’s looking at her phone again, indifferent. “What, that I’m not allowed to cheer him on because the network thinks we’re boyfriends?”

“You said that was no problem,” Natasha says, stretching her legs even as her accent thickens. 

Steve looks over to see Rumlow talking to the other camera person now, faltering before he turns back to her. “Sorry, that people would get me further confused with other blond guys with muscles.”

“That is real problem,” Natasha says, and winks at him. 

He flushes despite himself, still faintly pink when Thor finally comes in. 

“Here,” Natasha says, handing something to Steve. 

It’s his phone, and he stupidly pats his empty pocket to confirm it isn’t there anymore. He’s not sure when she’d gotten her hands on it. 

“I keep watch for you,” Natasha says. “So no mistakes.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says, running his thumb over the screen. It’s blank, no messages waiting, but he knows Natasha wouldn’t have broken his trust and looked. 

“What mistakes,” Thor asks, looking at the two of them, hands on his hips as he stands there between them.

“None,” Natasha says, tapping at Thor with her foot. She’s too short to reach but he comes to sit beside her on the couch anyway. 

“Good,” Thor says. He sighs heavily, turning to Steve with a thoughtful expression. “I dropped my brother once.”

“Okay?” Steve nods, even if he’s not sure what that has to do with anything.

“We were young, doing my father's routines still.” Thor looks down at his hands, clenching one into a fist and then relaxing. “He was in the air and I was to catch him. One of us stepped wrong, whoever, and he fell. Dislocated his elbow. I blamed him, he blamed me.”

“Is that why he—” Steve starts, but then trails off. It simply isn’t done, asking why partners split or what went wrong. 

“No, not then,” Thor says, settling into the couch with one big hand resting on Natasha’s ankles. “But it was the beginning of the end. As you know, it’s difficult to work with someone when you don’t trust them.”

“Yeah,” Steve says slowly. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?” 

Thor raises his eyebrows, refusing to rise to the bait. 

Steve flushes and looks down. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. It’s just—this is complicated. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Steve,” Thor says seriously. “You may have noticed all things are difficult before they become easy. You can’t give up now.” 

The show lasts for maybe three weeks beyond this, if they keep going. Two weeks for the remaining contestants to perform, then finals. Steve rubs at his cheek and thinks he could probably handle that, lean into it and do as he’s told. “We perform as a team, we win as a team.”

“Exactly,” Thor says, and claps his hand down on Natasha’s shin a little too hard in emphasis. She kicks at him with one foot. “And if we lose, we do that together too.”

“We won’t lose, not yet,” Natasha says, and then pointedly changes to the subject. 

They get kicked out of the ready room at the end of filming, piling into one of the vans back to the hotel. Nobody talks about how they did, what they think will happen tomorrow, and for a while, Steve forgets all about it. 

Steve checks his phone at some point before they sleep, hesitating with a thumb over Bucky’s name. There’s nothing stopping him from sending a message, other than doubting he’d be welcome. It’s late, and just because Steve can’t sleep doesn’t mean he should do something stupid. 

He turns over, huffing a sigh, and winces when he sees Thor scrunch is his face against the screen’s light. Turning it off, Steve shifts down to the end of the bed before heading to the bathroom. 

Steve catches his face in the mirror’s reflection, lit up by the phone. He shakes his head at himself, but still unlocks the phone’s screen to type something out to Bucky. 

_ Dinner, after I film results tomorrow?  _ Steve types out, knowing his schedule’s clear after the show’s done at 7. Whether it’s a yes or no, he figures he can tell Bucky what’s going on then. 

His phone buzzes even before he opens the door to the bathroom to try his bed again.

_ Yes!!!! Or ice cream, whatever.  _ Bucky sends, then the typing bubble pops up again.  _ In case we’re consoling ourselves lol _

Steve smiles and sends back the spoon emoji with fireworks.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve escapes the pre-results interviews with some clever maneuvering on Natasha’s part, ending up in the back of the dressing room Clint uses. Clint is oblivious or kind enough to ignore him, hearing aids on the dressing table as he touches up his hair. 

It’s a welcome break from the pace outside. Steve will have to get into yesterday’s costume soon enough himself, but for now he can wait with Clint for the call to the stage for blocking. 

When it comes, Steve obeys the instruction to shuffle onstage for the intros and go stand on the orange dots. He falls into place beside Thor and Natasha, keeping his eyes on the dots. 

“I’m done thinking about it,” Thor says quietly. 

Steve looks at him, but Thor is focused on Natasha, who shakes her head once. 

“Not now,” she says.

“Later,” Thor says, this time including Steve.

Natasha nods, but Steve’s no wiser. They had to have discussed something when he was trying to balance Clint’s arrows on his feet from crow pose, but he has no clue as to what. 

The PA comes in before he can ask about it, taking them through the lighting used for the results sequence. Steve follows along with the others when they shift and step to the next mark, but he’s thinking about the hours ahead. 

It feels like there’s a lot riding on this, but it’s simple: they’re either going on or not. Everything else that Steve’s worried about just has to fall in around it. 

The episode is filmed live, so they get a break between rehearsal and the shoot. 

All of it makes Steve want to crawl out of his skin, so he welcomes Natasha’s suggestion they go to the work out room. The routine of warming up is comfortingly familiar, even if they aren’t performing. 

Steve holds eagle pose, Thor in bridge. Natasha isn’t even bothering to stretch, busy texting on her phone. 

“So,” Thor says, eyes closed. He breathes out and doesn’t go on.

“It’s later,” Natasha says. “So?” 

Thor hums tunelessly, rolling over and into cobra pose. “Yes,” he says once he’s settled, eyes still shut. 

“Good,” Natasha says, dropping the accent.“You’re perfect, and I do not say that lightly.” 

“Is this the proposal?” Steve asks. “Will I be your best man?” 

“I...” Thor says, falters, then looks to Natasha. 

“Go get changed,” Natasha tells him. “I need a minute with Steve.” 

Thor nods, getting to his feet in one smooth motion. He wipes his hands on his track pants and after a lingering look at Steve, turns to go. 

“Sure,” Steve says, stepping out of eagle into warrior. His weight shifts too much to the right, making him roll onto the side of his foot before he corrects. Natasha catches it all, but doesn’t comment.  

“I want to offer you a job,” Natasha says, even before Thor’s gone. Her voice is flatter without the Russian accent, but the look on her face is exactly the same. She played a part as much as anyone else, Steve figures. 

“A job,” Steve repeats, curling his toes into the material of the mat.

“You have a gift,” she says. “You know what the body is capable of. I could use someone like you as a fight coordinator.”

“For what, exactly,” Steve says before dropping into downward dog. 

“The show I’m producing,” Natasha says. She steps behind Steve, so he can focus on her feet through the apex of his legs. “The studio’s in LA. It’s sunny and beautiful and you won’t need to wear shoes.”

“I thought you were a Russian acrobat,” Steve says, holding the pose. 

“One of the many roles I’ve played,” Natasha says. “Currently an executive producer in search of talent.”

“And you think that’s me,” Steve says. 

“You,” Natasha agrees. “Behind the camera instead of in front.” 

“I want to say yes,” Steve says, because he really does. It sounds like something he’d want to do, if he’d ever thought past spending the next couple of hours in the gym. “But I already made a promise to Thor.”

“What if I told you Thor would be one of the stars you’d be choreographing?”

“What,” Steve says, relaxing out of the pose and turning to face her.

“I asked him not to say anything to you, when I offered him a job,” Natasha says. “I wanted you to think about this for yourself first.”

“Me,” Steve says. 

Natasha shrugs gracefully. “Do something for yourself and make me happy.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and feels some of the tension drop out of his shoulders. It’s the kind of job he would’ve dreamed of, had he known it existed. “Okay.”

“It’s a Fury project,” Natasha says, sliding her phone out of her pocket and herding Steve toward the door. “He’s going to love you.”

Steve isn’t so sure, but lets her lead the way to the craft services table. Thor meets them there, clasping Steve’s hand and turning it into a hug when he finds out that Steve said yes. 

“I was going to insist you came with me, but Natasha was ahead of me,” Thor says happily, grinning and shaking one of Steve’s shoulders.

“Get used to that,” Natasha says dryly, and it feels good and calm for the fifteen minutes before they get called to stage. 

Steve has to rush into yesterday’s costume to be ready, leaving the hoodie unzipped over his bare chest. 

They step onto stage and take their mark, Steve only half-listening to the introductions. They go from twelve to seven here to make up the twenty-one at the semifinals. 

The elimination happens over a few weeks with three nights a week, dragging the process out for those left on the show. 

Standing under the hot lights, Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s pretty sure he should have worn his shoes. 

Tonight, they name two groups as safe and then go to a commercial. The night’s supposed to pass pretty much like this for the next two hours. 

Steve loses track of time somewhere between the results for the fifth or sixth act. It can’t be more than the two hours of the episode, but he’s running out of lights to stare at, getting closer to actually looking at the audience—and that’s a bad idea. 

They’re part of the slowly shrinking group waiting on their fate. The lights go down again and Steve focuses on his feet, the warmth of Thor standing next to him. If it ends like this, he’d be happy, and if it goes on, he’d be okay with that too. 

The number of chances to move on are less, now, only three left to go. It’s worse doing it this way than on Bucky’s ninja show. At least there, results are based on performance. 

Steve wonders if Bucky will make it next week, if he can pull the same magic of turning his body into a tool and surviving the obstacles.  

He wants to be there to see it, either way. 

It’s like what Natasha said, about Steve making a decision for himself—he wants to go. It might not even matter. The show could have decided Steve’s too much of a risk anyway, or America could have decided that a couple of guys holding each other on tv isn’t for them. 

Steve breathes in deep, feeling his bare shoulder brush against Thor’s, deciding he’s going to watch Bucky compete. The show’s important, but Steve cares about Bucky more. 

At the next cue they shuffle offstage, Steve bracing himself to break the news. 

Natasha’s teasing Thor about something, his unzipped hoodie maybe, when Thor turns to him. 

His smile drops when he sees Steve’s face, instantly concerned. 

“Steve?” Thor asks. 

“I want to see Bucky compete next week,” Steve blurts out, wincing when Thor frowns a little deeper. “On his show. I don’t care what the show says I can and can’t do, I want to do it.” 

“Well,” Thor says, looking over at Natasha. She shrugs. 

“I don’t want it to screw things up—” Steve starts, but Thor claps his hand to Steve’s shoulder, cutting him off. 

“We’re a team,” Thor says. “We’ll just have to go with you. Make it harder to bully us.” 

“Oh,” Steve says, then again. “Oh.” 

“We’re with you,” Natasha says. “No matter what happens tonight.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets to hide it from the cameras. 

He’s not paying attention when they move out for the last time. The host tells them they were all amazing and interesting but only one more group will make it to the semifinals. With four of them up here, the odds aren’t great. 

The lights go down and the music comes up, building the drama for the last few minutes of the live broadcast. Thor reaches for Steve’s hand, gripping it tight. Steve won’t miss the anxiety of being on camera, judged by all of America, but still, he wouldn’t trade being connected to someone like this. 

“Ready,” Thor whispers to himself, squeezing Steve’s hand as they wait.

Steve squeezes back, counting as he lets out a slow breath. But— 

They don’t move on. 

There’s a split second of silence before the lights go up, Natasha digging her elbow into his side and hissing  _ smile _ at him. Steve does, knowing he looks as awkward as he feels. 

Thor releases Steve’s hand to pull him into his side, smile small but genuine. Natasha slides under his other arm, patting Thor’s chest even as one of the groups next to them in the line celebrates their own safety. 

Then they’re being rushed off stage during the commercial break, and like that, Steve is free. 

He sits down, suddenly giddy with the thought of it. He’s not going back to being a personal trainer at the end of this, doesn’t need to beg for his place back at the gym or promise not to break any more equipment. 

Thor slides to the ground beside him, zipping up his costume with one hand. He looks a little lost, staring at the floor between his feet. 

“This isn’t the end,” Steve tells him, tells himself. “Of this, sure, but it isn’t everything.”

“No, you are right about that,” Thor says, then turns to Steve with the start of a smile on his face. “We’re only beginning.” 

Steve likes that thought, especially now, but before he can tell Thor as much Natasha comes back. She’s still in her own costume, but she looks different somehow, less controlled. 

Clint’s out too, Natasha tells them, shifting her weight from foot to foot. They have to wait until the show’s over before they go back to the hotel to check out. If it wasn’t for the overwhelming relief, Steve imagines the wait would be frustrating. “We’re going out for drinks after.”

“Oh, uh, dinner,” Steve says, thinking of Bucky. He hasn’t called him yet with the news, the show or the new job or any of it. 

“You can invite a friend,” Natasha says, hustling them back to the hotel when they finally get the all clear. 

She tells them to meet down at the carport when they’re done packing, that she’ll drive them out to this burger place Clint loves for the promised drinks. 

“I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see the last of this room,” Thor says once they’re back in the room, zipping up his suitcase. 

“Me either,” Steve says. He lifts the edge of the spread on his sloppily made bed to check that he hasn’t left anything behind. They’ve been in this room for weeks, living on top of each other. Steve’s gotten used to it, but he can’t say he likes it. 

“Well,” Thor says, clapping a hand to Steve’s shoulder as he passes. “On to better things.” 

“Sure,” Steve says. Satisfied he has all his things, he swings his duffel over his shoulder and joins Thor on the way to the elevator. 

Natasha drives a big black SUV with tinted windows and shiny chrome rims. Clint’s already in the passenger seat, wearing aviators that have to be Natasha’s. 

“About time,” Natasha says, popping the back of the SUV to load up their bags. Her backpack is in there, dwarfed by Thor and Steve’s luggage. Steve isn’t sure how she does it. 

Even now, she’s wearing shiny pants and a thin long sleeved shirt, looking like she’s been vacationing for the last few weeks instead of competing. She might have even gotten a tan. 

In contrast, Steve and Thor are wearing track pants and tee shirts. Steve does have a knit cardigan on overtop, only because he’s on a date.  

Well, he hopes, at least. He’d texted Bucky after they’d left the stage for the last time, then again with the restaurant details, but he hasn’t heard anything back. 

The restaurant is this franchisey steakhouse, with dark wood and dim lighting that just makes it feel claustrophobic. 

They get a big booth that looks out over the parking lot. Steve follows Natasha onto the bench seat, leaving Thor to take the other side. 

Steve’s phone buzzes with a text from Bucky after they’ve ordered drinks, a series of emojis and question marks that he can’t begin to decipher. 

Natasha peeks at his phone when he tilts it her way, and smiles. “Now we’ll have that talk about your boyfriend,” she says. 

“Natasha,” Steve says, but she ignores him, leaning into Clint beside her. 

Thor’s concentrating on his phone, slipping out with a promise to be back in a second. 

They fall silent long enough that it gets awkward, before Clint clears his throat loudly. 

“So, we’re all losers,” Clint says. 

“We’re free,” Steve says, shrugging one shoulder. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet, that the show is over and he gets to move on to something better. 

“Sure, that too,” Clint says. He taps his knuckles against Natasha’s shoulder. “So did she drag you in too?”

“Clint’s an editor,” Natasha says, nudging him back. “He’s magic. We’ve done some work together.”

Clint lifts an imaginary glass in a toast, then looks embarrassed when the waiter practically runs back to the table with their orders. He’s apologetic, enough so that Natasha finally tells him to stop so the waiter can keep doing her job. 

Steve has, for the first time in a long time, a light beer in front of him. He looks from the glass to Natasha. “Did you arrange all of this?”

Natasha shrugs with one shoulder and doesn’t elaborate. She lets her eyes slide off the side of Steve’s face, turning to Clint before Steve can stammer up an apology or something else that would embarrass them both. 

Steve turns to his beer instead, lifting it for a short taste that’s exactly like he remembers. He’s still not fond of it—it wasn’t a hardship to give it up when he and Thor started training in earnest, but it does remind him now that he’s free. 

He opens his mouth to say something to Natasha, maybe giving voice to that embarrassing thing, when the door opens and Thor thankfully comes back in. 

“Well,” Thor says, loud enough that they can hear him even before he’s back at their table. “My brother tells me it’s pathetic that we lasted this long.”

“He was watching,” Natasha says, sitting back in the booth. 

“Like you said,” Thor says, sounding pleased. 

“Do you get the feeling you’re just a side character in whatever they have going on?” Clint asks Steve, leaning past Natasha in an obvious way that she pushes at his shoulders until he sits back, laughing. 

“Never,” Steve says, bringing his bottle to his lips and scanning the restaurant. He sees Bucky and Sam then, at the door and uncertain, so he half-stands in the booth and waves. 

Steve looks back at the group to find them staring at him, Natasha with one eyebrow raised. 

“What,” he asks, but no one says anything. Bucky and Sam are sliding into the booth before he can press them, and then he doesn’t care.  

“So, dinner is not a date now?” Bucky asks, choosing the seat next to Steve and leaving the other side for Sam. He’s wearing a hoodie, the empty sleeve tucked into his pocket to distract from any questions. 

“I got roped into the group,” Steve says, leaning a bit into Bucky’s side. They fit together nicely, curves of shoulders and biceps lined up. “Maybe we can get our own table?”

“No, no way, this is our swan song,” Clint says before he looks more carefully at Sam and Bucky. “Wait, were you guys on the show?” 

“If you saw me in tights, you’d never forget it,” Sam says. 

“I’m on  _ American Ninja Warrior,”  _ Bucky says, giving Sam a warning look.  “You know, climbing, leaping. That kind of stuff.”

“Oh,” Clint says. He doesn’t say anything about Bucky’s ability, whether out of tact or that he hasn’t noticed. “I’m an archer. Just got voted off a talent show.” 

“I saw,” Bucky says, then sets his elbow against Steve’s ribs. He’s comfortable enough to keep it there while they order food, curving into Steve to continue his conversation with Clint. 

“So,” Bucky says quietly, once Clint’s attention’s been drawn over to Sam and Thor. “Now what?” 

“Well, dinner, for a start,” Steve says. 

“Ha,” Bucky says flatly, smile softening his tone. “I mean, you’re done with Vegas? Going home?”

“Staying for a bit, I think Natasha has someone she wants us to meet,” Steve says. It’s either Fury himself or Thor’s new co-stars, but Steve can’t remember what Natasha said. “Plus there’s your final. If I’m still allowed come.”

“Still allowed,” Bucky says, sounding surprised. “Of course I want you there. I’m going to lose, but I want you there to see that final splashdown.” 

“Then I will be,” Steve says. “Won’t let Sam trick me this time though.” 

Bucky laughs, looking across the table to where Thor and Sam are discussing something intently. “He’s such a shit sometimes, but I like him for it.”

“I might too,” Steve says, because he’s done worse on tv on purpose. He won’t let accidental embarrassment hold him back. 

He leans back when their food comes, his steak with a side of potato that makes his mouth water to look at. Bucky's still on the training diet, grimly eyeing his protein and fruit. 

“So what then, back to Chicago?” Bucky asks, shifting a bit away to put some distance between their disparate plates. 

“Actually got a job,” Steve says, nodding at Thor when their eyes meet across the table. “At a studio in LA.”

“LA,” Bucky repeats. “You’re kidding me.” 

“We can work something out, maybe,” Steve says, even as he calculates the distance between Chicago and LA and ends up with a number that makes both his head and his heart hurt. 

“Where in LA, near the Hills at all?” Bucky says casually, taking a bite of food. “That’s where my gym is, so that’s cool.”

“Our gym,” Sam corrects from his side of the table. He points at Bucky with two fingers. “Haven’t kicked me out yet.” 

“You live in LA?” Steve asks, still stuck on the Chicago part. It doesn’t make sense. He’d resigned himself to fighting to make something work long-distance, maybe flying back and forth when his yet-to-be-determined schedule allows, and this seems better than he could have hoped for. 

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, the motion bringing him a little closer. “Train there too.”

“But you were at that gym in Chicago.”

“For qualifying, yeah,” Bucky says. He sets down his fork and brushes Steve’s arm with the backs of his fingers, gentle, like a promise. “But it feels like we would have met eventually.”

“I guess so,” Steve says, not bothering to hide his smile. 

They get drawn into conversation with Natasha then, about the studio in Hollywood and how close it is to Bucky and Sam’s gym. Apparently none of it is actually LA at all, the kind of distinction Clint says Steve will pick up soon enough. 

It’s good, Steve pressing his shoulder up against Bucky’s and feeling relaxed for the first time in a while, even if he doesn’t dare kick his shoes off underneath the table. 

They leave well after the food’s eaten and the second round of drinks is gone. 

“Sorry to hear about the show,” Bucky says when they step out, a few steps behind everyone else. His hand brushes Steve’s twice before he links their fingers together. 

“I’m not,” Steve says. It was fun, but he’s ready to take this next step. 

“Well, alright then,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s fingers. 

* * *

 

The days before the Ninja Warrior final fly by, ones where Steve books his flight back to Chicago to pack up and release his apartment and then over to LAX to start learning his new city. 

They stay until the final, all of them, even if Steve knows that Natasha has better things to do. 

“So, the winner makes it to the end,” Natasha says, squinting up at the obstacle course. 

“No, technically, the winner is whoever makes it there the fastest, or farthest,” Sam says. “Nobody’s made it through the entire course yet.” 

“I could,” Natasha says, flexing her hands like she’s ready to take off. She’s tiny, but Steve thinks she could make it work, that she understands the mechanics of movement required to handle each setup. 

“Well, you’re Wonder Woman,” Sam says, and points to a series of hanging panels, maybe a quarter of the way in. “That’s going to be the one that gets Buck, I figure. There’s really no way of tackling it with the one hand.” 

“I am a regular woman,” Natasha says under her breath, looking dark. 

Steve knocks his elbow into her shoulder, gentle, and she turns her scowl on him. It’s not exactly real, he doesn’t think, so he just shrugs at her until she rolls her eyes. 

She’s knocked out of it when Thor and Bucky join them again, Bucky wearing the black sleeveless shirt and bandana of his uniform. 

“I want to do this next year,” Thor announces, pointing at the rope jungle. “That looks like fun.” 

_ “That _ is going to be what takes me down,” Bucky says, stretching out his legs. He’s surprisingly cheerful in the face of a few obstacles that are nearly impossible to handle with one hand. 

“You could use your feet,” Steve says absently, tilting his head as he eyes the current competitor maneuvering through it. “Move your weight first, then it’s just a matter of balance.” 

“Balance,” Bucky mutters to his knees. “Where were you when I started this whole thing?” 

“I had some things to work out,” Steve says. He steps closer, scrubbing the palms of his hands over his own shoulders before he offers them to Bucky. 

“Oh, we know,” Bucky says, and he’s not exactly relaxed under Steve’s hands, but he isn’t buzzing with the tension Steve would expect either.  “Should have known you’d suggest feet.” 

Steve curls his toes against the rubber mat he’s standing on, letting his hands rest on Bucky’s back. They don’t mind eccentricity around here, not with people in costume and wrestler-like personas. Being barefoot is nothing. 

“Be nice to our boy,” Sam cuts in, raising his eyebrows at Steve before he hands Bucky his bandana. “He’s the golden ticket.” 

“I am not,” Steve says, feeling his face flush. Sam doesn’t comment, thankfully, just uses his elbow to prod Steve away from Bucky and to follow the PA corralling them into the stands. 

It’s weird to be here with Thor on one side and Sam on the other, but Steve’s can get used to it. He sits forward to watch the first competitors tackle the course. There’s only one or two that make it to the end, and one that runs out of time. The rest can’t seem to get past these two hanging hoops near the end. On Sam’s other side, Natasha’s intent on the course too. 

“You casting again?” Steve asks her, gratified when she looks over and he sees she’s smiling. 

“Not yet,” Natasha says, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe for season two.” 

Steve considers that thoughtfully in the seconds they have before the ASM directs them to stand ready for Bucky’s start. Things are set up differently for finals, with a raised dais for the competitors who have made it through to cheer the rest on. 

Bucky takes his mark, bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet while the countdown sounds and then he’s leaping right into the rope jungle. He gets a high enough grip on the first rope that sliding doesn’t matter, and then he goes for the second rope feet first. 

The ropes are too far apart, Steve thinks, but then Bucky has shifted his weight to the next and makes the third and fourth look easy. When he lands on the platform there’s a little burst of fire that has Thor making noises of approval beside him. 

“It’s very theatrical,” Thor says, pleased, then quiets when Bucky jumps up to the bar for the salmon ladder. Steve knows this one by name, has seen Bucky do it before, but going by the way Thor goes and grips his hand it’s more exciting for the uninitiated. 

There’s a moment when the bar gets stuck halfway between one set of rungs and the next and Steve thinks that’s it, Bucky’s done, but he manages to swing forward with the momentum he has. 

It’s the panels next. Steve holds his breath and squeezes Thor’s hand, but Bucky really doesn’t stand a chance. He jumps, gets a grip around one edge of the panel, slips—and then drops straight into the water below. 

After a second, Bucky surfaces, bandana floating in the water beside him. The pool isn’t that deep, coming up mid-thigh when Bucky stands to get out. He steps over the edge to where the interviewer’s waiting for him, smiling as he sweeps his hair away from his face. 

“Come on,” Sam says, smacking Steve in the bicep with the back of his hand. “We’re going down there.” 

“Alright,” Steve says, so they leave Thor and Natasha in the stands and go to meet Bucky down beside the course. 

He’s still talking to the interviewer. Steve hangs back, unsure of the protocol here, but Sam comes right on and smacks Bucky in the arm. Bucky smiles, but he lights up when he sees Steve. There’s no other way to describe it, and it warms Steve down to his bare toes.  

“Hi,” Bucky says, pulling Steve in for a hug. His shirt is cold and wet but his skin is warm where they’re pressed together.  

“Hey,” Steve says back, pressing his palm against Bucky’s ribs. He can feel all the places where he’s soaking up water but doesn’t care. 

“This could be the adrenaline, but I like you a lot,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s neck. 

Steve huffs out a laugh, bringing his hand up to tug at what’s left of Bucky’s bun until he pulls back. “I like you too.” 

“Good,” Bucky says. They just look at each other for a long second, enough that Steve remembers the cameras and everyone standing all around. He leans in and kisses Bucky anyway. 

“That’s his consolation prize,” Sam says to the interviewer, somewhere behind them, but Steve smiles against Bucky’s mouth and doesn’t care who’s watching. 

(He’s still relieved that the kiss never makes it to broadcast.)


End file.
